


Running From A Million Men

by ftm_loverboy_lance



Series: Self Insert Shance [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Other, Out of Character, Out of Character Lance (Voltron), Rape/Non-con Elements, Trans Lance (Voltron), Trans Male Character, god I hate this part, keith is not very nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-10-29 04:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftm_loverboy_lance/pseuds/ftm_loverboy_lance
Summary: (summary to be added later)***Was going to use this to branch off on a different story but changed my mind; it's now it's own story.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prologue is not from Lance's perspective, but is about Lance and you guys can try to figure out who that person is >:3

The petite, doe-eyed girl is wearing a black dress much too short for her own good. The fabric is sheer and thin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Is she aware of how revealing it is? Does she even care? Maybe not, she could have chosen a revealing outfit on purpose. He internally wonders but knows it doesn't truly matter. Her lithe body sways slightly, he doesn't know if she's swaying to the music, or if her body is struggling to maintain standing on her too-thin legs. Her delicate voice hums along to the soothing music, and there's a chaste smile plastered to her face, he can't quite yet tell if it is fake or genuine. He never knows with her, never knows anything when it comes to her. 

He's never sure of anything when it comes to the girl who is always, without fail, being kind. The girl who doesn't drink anything but vodka and water, even smuggling the vile liquid into class. She gave the impression of being childlike and innocent, completely ignorant to all things adult. She blushed at any inappropriate word and failed to comprehend even the simplest of innuendos. He had never heard her curse or insult anyone. She was always sickly sweet with honeyed little smiles and childish, high-pitched giggles. The teachers saw her as an adorable, lovable little menace. She didn't pay attention in class, missed weeks of school, never studied, and yet got straight A's and near-perfect test scores. Discretely hidden under long sleeves, she constantly had bruises littering her skin, but she always insisted she was just a tad bit clumsy. The girl he knew nothing about, except for the obvious: her name.

His thoughts about her dizzyingly complex personality raced through his head. But tonight, was the first time he has seen her in two weeks, and he wasn't letting the opportunity slip out of his hands by being lost in thought. He realized that she had begun to pout as she waited for him to join her in dancing around the apartment. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist and received one of her sweet smiles before she hid her face in his neck. They eventually fell asleep together in his bed, their legs tightly intertwined. He knew she would be gone in the morning, but he still allowed himself to hold her tight and enjoy the moment.

Unsurprisingly, he woke up alone, the spot next to him had long gone cold. Instead of dwelling on how much he already missed her, he began to get ready for the day. This is how it always was with her. 

To his horror, he found out two days later that she was in the hospital.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW! TW! 
> 
> this is the first chapter, I'll let you guys figure out how old Lance is here. enjoy.

Lance is on a plane, looking out the tiny window at the white fluffy clouds below the plane. His eyes focus on fields of grass and crops, and distant houses that look like toy blocks. As he gets closer to his destination, a knot of anxiety has settled in the pit of his stomach. His fingernails have been bitten down as much as possible, leaving his fingertips raw and sensitive. But even so, he has managed to scratch the back of his hands until they bled. Even now, he mindlessly picks at the bandages covering his wounded hands.

He doesn't know what to expect, going back home to his little town in Arizona. Lance is finally being allowed some freedom, and he has no clue what to do with it. Will he go back to his old school? He doesn't know, but he knows he has missed a year of schooling. 

He is mulling over his choices when he sees the "seatbelts on" light turn on. He has had it on the whole time so, he tightens the wide fabric strap around his waist. Then begins to mentally prepare himself for the feeling of his stomach dropping every time the altitude changes, or there is turbulence. He feels sick to his stomach by the time the plane lands but manages to keep his composure, even with water sloshing around inside his stomach. 

Wheeling his small, carry-on suitcase behind him, Lance slowly, ever so slowly, makes his way off the plane. Then begins his journey out of the airport, pushing through the mass of people hurriedly going in the opposite direction. He walks carefully, as to make sure he doesn't lose his balance or bump into anyone. The last thing he needs is someone spilling coffee on him or being knocked over. He manages to make it outside, incident-free and scans his eyes over the parking lot, looking for a familiar car or person. When he recognizes one man, wearing a black suit as he leans against a dark vehicle, he makes his way over to him. Lance walks right up to him and wraps his arms around the taller man, who doesn't hug back but doesn't tense in his hold. 

"Laney," the man said as he stepped out of the hug and took Lance's suitcase, putting it in the trunk.

"You know that's not my name," Lance replied bitterly, with no real heat in his voice. 

"How was your flight?" he asked, ignoring the younger boy's retort as he opened the backseat door. 

Lance gingerly sat in the car, sarcastically answering the chauffeur before the door was closed, "Lovely."

They both settled into a comfortable silence as the driver began the hour and a half drive back to Lance's house. Lance looked out the window at the scenery around them as they left the airport, everything around them consisted of tall buildings with glass walls or fast food places. An hour through the drive, the city gave way to homes, all lined up in perfect, cookie-cutter suburban neighborhoods. Several farms popped up between the monotony, and Lance excitedly looked at all of the horses, cows and other farm animals that were outside, grazing on hay.

Eventually, the car slowly rolled up to the familiar gates barring access to the neighborhood before the driver rolled down his window to input a code. The gates parted and they drove past large houses, some large enough to be considered mansions. Once they reached the house, the driver parked, and shut off the car but made no move to get out as Lance stared up at his childhood home. 

"Is he home?" Lance asks as his hands begin to shake.

"Your father," the older man replies pointedly, "is not home, but your siblings should be."

"Do you know if my stuff is still there?" he asks the driver hesitantly.

The older man shook his head, "I don't know. But as I recall, you didn't have many belongings."

"Yeah," Lance replies, trying to keep his voice light and joking, "just don't want to find any of my books missing. He had another baby while I was gone, and I don't feel like having my books drooled on, or torn up."

"Would you like to go in now?" 

"Can you take my suitcase in? I'll follow you in a moment," Lance replies, keeping his voice light as he feels his chest constricting. 

He doesn't get a response but watches as the driver gets out of the car. His chest constricts more, but he remains composed until he sees the older man step into the large house, closing the door behind himself. His breathing is panicked, he feels like a boa constrictor is wrapped around his torso, tightening every time he breathes out. He curls in on himself, his arm wrapped around his legs as he hides his face in his knees. 

Lance doesn't know how long he was sitting there when he feels a hand gently rub his back, his panic-stricken body flinching at the touch. Without even looking, he knows who it is; he can identify them just by how they're silently rubbing his back. 

"Lace," he breathes out once he has calmed down somewhat.

He gets a, "mhm" in reply before the hand rubbing his back stops, and he feels his sister's arms wrap around his shoulders. After a few minutes, Lance slowly uncurls his body before hugging her, burying his face in her shoulder. A few more minutes pass before she pulls away to look at his face.

"Just overwhelmed now that you're back, huh?" she asks, and he nods in reply before looking at her; he sees his face mirrored back at him, but more pleasant to the eyes. 

Lance has chubby cheeks, pale skin, and dark circles, but his sister has naturally sun-kissed skin and more prominent cheekbones. He knows it's his fault; he's too fat compared to his athletic sister, but he wishes that they actually did look identical. He's nearly a whole foot shorter than her, and probably weighs fifty more pounds than her. 

"Let's go inside, Laney. I'm making dinner," she says, holding his hand to lead him inside. 

Lance internally cringes at the thought of eating food, especially when Lacey has a tendency to make greasy, or calorie-laden food. He knows he can just use the flight as an excuse for not eating much, so he doesn't put up much of a fight, following her inside the familiar house. Instinctively, he slips off his shoes and leaves them with the others neatly lined up after stepping inside, knowing he'd get yelled at by their father if he left them on. He's hit with the smell of cooking food, and the heat from the oven has warmed the whole kitchen. 

The sliding glass door on the other side of the kitchen, across from the front door, lets him see his younger siblings playing in the backyard. He feels a twinge of sadness and annoyance as he notices his garden wasn't maintained while he was gone. Before he has a chance to ask why, the timer for the oven goes off, and his sister carefully pulls the food out of the oven, setting it on a cooling rack. 

Lance's stomach drops as he sees the food: a large pot pie, probably chicken, and also baked potatoes. As his sister steps outside to call for his siblings, Lance mentally tries to calculate all the calories, and he feels his own brain short-circuit. He starts to panic as his sister begins serving plates and all his siblings seat themselves at the large dining table. 

He's so distracted by his internal warring that it takes him a second to notice his youngest brother tugging at his hand. He smiles at the two-year-old before bending down to pick him up, hearing his bones creak and protest. He sits down at the large dining room table with his brother on his lap. When two plates of food are set in front of him, he begins helping the toddler eat his food, so no one notices as he neglects his own plate. 

With all the commotion of the nine of them eating together, Lance clearing off his plate of untouched food goes unnoticed. He puts his plate in the sink after throwing the food away before handing his brother to his sister.

"I'm tired, gonna take a nap," he tells her as he kisses her cheek. 

"M'kay. Your sleeping medicine is where it always is. Sleep well," she replies with a soft smile.

He thinks he sees something akin to sadness or pity in her eyes, and he nods in reply. Lance kisses the tops of all his siblings' heads as he makes his way to the stairs. He slowly trudges up the spiral staircase, gripping the metal railing, so he doesn't lose his balance as stars dance across his vision. The bedroom is the only one on the third floor, and to his surprise, he discovers that his room hasn't been touched in the last year.

Sadly, everything that he owns is in this tiny, dingy room, aside from the clothes in his suitcase. There's a mattress that's over ten years old in the corner of the room, with no bed frame, and he knows there are bloodstains under the sheets. Next to the old mattress is a small cardboard box, he doesn't remember how old it is, but all it holds are his books and school supplies. His small closet is empty except for a laundry hamper, and a cheap, plastic cube organizer where he sorts his clean clothes. 

Lance sits crosslegged on the floor next to his bed and lifts the lid before taking a large, heavy book out of the box. He opens it to examine its contents; it's hollow and inside are three pill bottles. One bottle has pain medication, another has sleeping medicine, and the last one has mood stabilizers. They're all full and still sealed, so he knows his sister probably got a new refill before he came home. He opens all three, taking one pill from each before going to the bathroom, filling his cupped hands with water from the tap. He downs all three at once before laying down on his bed, resigning himself to sleep for the rest of the day. 

***

Lance's body startles awake as he hears the door to his room slowly open, the hinges creaking ominously. He keeps his breathing even and stays perfectly still, as soft footsteps approach his bed. He feels the bed dip as someone sits next to him, his back facing the unknown person. The person slowly lays down next to him, caging him between their body, and the wall. A large hand slips under his hoodie, and he recognizes the person touching him as offensive lips begin kissing along his neck, facial hair scratching and irritating his sensitive skin.

"I know you're awake, donut girl," whispers his father, warm breath fanning against his ear. 

But Lance keeps his eyes closed and doesn't respond.

He hears his father chuckle, followed by a mumbled, "fine by me." 

The larger man sits up as he begins peeling off Lance's clothes, and the young boy drifts off to somewhere in his mind, so he doesn't feel what's happening to his unwilling body. 

Lance doesn't know how much time has passed when his father's voice snaps him out of his inner sanctuary. 

"I missed you, Laney," his father says before he leaves the room, shutting the door behind himself.

Sobs begin wracking Lance's body as he curls in on himself, feeling dirty and ruined as blood-tinged cum dries between his thighs. 

***

Lance has settled remarkably well back into his old routine, almost immediately. He wakes up every day before dawn, takes a shower, gets dressed, and quietly does all his chores before anyone else wakes up. He feeds the pets, waters his plants, tidies up all the toys strewn about over the house, folds clean laundry and washes more, then makes breakfast. By the time he’s done with breakfast, his siblings start waking up. He always tells them he’s already eaten as he gets his father’s clothes ready for the day, bringing them to him, along with his father’s medicine and a glass of orange juice. After breakfast, his father leaves for work and Lance is finally able to relax and breathe. Then he spends his day taking care of the new baby, cleaning the house, and making food for everyone else.

Lance has the same routine every day for two weeks. It dawns on him at the end of those two weeks that his siblings are getting prepared to go back to school, but he is not. He decides to bring this up to his father during one of his regular night visits. His father is buttoning up his jeans, about to get up and leave his room, when Lance gently reaches out a small hand and takes hold of his wrist. 

"Papa?" Lance questions, keeping his voice as soft as possible.

A small look of shock takes over his father's face, and he looks questioningly back at Lance.

"Am I going to school?" Lance shyly asks, still keeping his voice soft as he rubs soothing circles on his father's skin with his thumb. 

He hears a malicious chuckle before his father leans in close. 

"All you're good for is housework, babysitting, and being my little fuck toy. You don't need to go to school, whore," his father sneers viciously.

Lance only nods in response and blinks back the tears building up. He lets his hand fall and watches as his father leaves his room. 

***

For the next month, he continues his daily routine and eats as little as physically possible. Lance watches his siblings leave for their first day of school, he helps them get ready every day, makes them breakfast and packs their lunches, and helps his younger siblings with their homework after dinner. He watches them live socially active lives as he wilts away, trapped in his own house. He feels foolish for ever thinking he'd have a bit of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a little short, but hopefully passable.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW, as usual

Four months back at home and Lance's routine deviates for the first time, and everyone in the family notices almost immediately. It's the first Monday in November, and the whole brood is getting ready for school when they realize Lance is nowhere to be seen. He was feeling unwell the evening before, but Lance was always awake and seeing his siblings off to school, sick or not. All the siblings shrugged off their concerns and headed on their way. They assumed he was merely sleeping in and taking a morning to himself for once. Right?

Lance is curled up on his unsupportive mattress, staring off into nothing, eyes unfocused, unseeing. A distant thought flickers into his mind, of the baby he's supposed to care for; he's reassured by the knowledge that his father is still home. In fact, a large body is in bed next to him, warm and naked, and trapping him against the chilly wall. He doesn't dare move and disrupt the burly man, although he has no energy to do so, even as he hears a faint, distant alarm ringing in his father's room downstairs. 

His father rolls over, and blue eyes focus and flicker to the bassinet on the other side of his room, he doesn't even remember when it was moved there. When he became this baby's new mother. He slips out of bed, taking care not to disturb his father; footsteps light, so light he makes no sound, even while walking across creaky floorboards. His body feels run down, fatigued and sluggish. His hand - no, his entire arm - shakes as he reaches out to rub the baby's chubby cheek. All his muscles weak and overexerted, his lips, hands, and feet turning blue from the cold, his head cloudy and unresponsive. A thought slowly registers in his muddled brain.

"Papa?" Lance utters softly, his voice coming out like static, cracked and hoarse.

His father, ever the light sleeper, wakes immediately and grunts in response.

"The baby's mother, isn't she supposed to be coming here soon?"

His father swore, and Lance heard the bedsprings protesting and the sounds of the larger man standing up, moving across the room with accompanying stomps. Somewhere between waking up and trudging to the bassinet, his father managed to pull his underwear and sleep pants back on. Lance felt a large, sweaty hand touch the bare skin of his lower back, the hand flat between his hips and stroking his spine with a thumb. Lance made no move to look at, or make eye contact with the larger man, even when lips and stubble pressed against his neck and cheek. The hand on his lower back moved, traveling lower until it rested on his behind, squeezing almost painfully.

"Papa, the baby," Lance spoke in a disengaged tone, not giving him the benefit of a reaction.

His father hummed in acknowledgment, followed by a mumbled, "I know," even as his offending hand traveled between emaciated legs, rubbing tender skin. Instead of eliciting pleasure or enjoyment, his fondling made Lance ill, bile rising in his throat. He made no move to stop the actions, put up no fight even as he felt himself being guided back into bed, a bulky body pressing him into the bed.

When his father is done, Lance watches, detachedly, as the middle-aged man gets dressed. They say nothing to each other, except for when stubble and thin lips press against Lance's cheek, followed with a "bye." And then his father is lifting the bundle out of the bassinet and taking it downstairs, presumably to its mother.

***

Lance wakes up sometime later, but he's not sure when. He feels like he's been sleeping for days, but none of his siblings are home yet, and the sun is still high in the sky. Weak muscles scream their protest as he attempts to sit up, and he nearly gives up, but the creeping anxiety taking over him pushes Lance to get up.

Something is horribly wrong, he knows. He doesn't feel like himself. His brain is so fuzzy and slow, his breathing difficult, his heart feels like it's both weak and beating too fast. He pushes himself to crawl across his bed, reaching the cardboard box. Rummaging around clumsily, until his cold fingers grasp a cool phone. He flicks it on, dials 911 and waits, still feeling like his brain is full of molasses, even when he hears a voice on the other end. Unconsiousness slowly presses upon him, vision slowly going black as he slowly murmurs his address, still loud enough for the person to hear.

He continues talking, not waiting for a response, "Top floor bedroom... I need an ambulance."

He drops the phone and lets his body fall back onto his bed, no longer fighting the creeping black, even as he hears an insistent voice coming from his phone.

"Can you tell me what's wrong? Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?"

***

Lance awakens to an unfamiliar room, with the harrowing feeling that he's done something he shouldn't have. Voices, faint and muffled, are closeby, and he recognizes a few. Blue eyes close, the tired boy not wanting to be awake yet or get lectured. Feigning sleep, he hears bits of conversation.

"Extremely underweight... Dehydrated... Emancipated... Psychiatric hold." spoke one voice, louder and more coherent than the others.

He hears his father respond brusquely, but can't make out the words. 

"He cannot go home, he needs to be monitored. We also found evidence someone had assaulted him," responds the unknown voice.

Lance can't help the little bit of panic that rises in him when he hears the man's knowing, pointed tone. He doesn't wait for his father's response and stops pretending he's asleep.

"Papa?" he asks as loud as he can muster while attempting to sit up.

The two older men step through the open glass door into his room, and Lance can see the concern on his father's features. He can't be sure if it's genuine, but he knows it's probably not. His father's big, tanned hand reaches out to brush stray hairs out of Lance's face, and the smaller boy resists the urge to flinch in front of the doctor.

"The doctor and I need to talk about some things privately, okay, princess?" his father asked in a tone that was too caring, and Lance knew he was in trouble.

He nodded and mumbled, "okay," in response.

He watched the two men leave his room again, and his cerulean eyes slid to the TV, and then to the remote on the bedside table. He flipped through channels while the TV was on mute, not really caring, but wanting a distraction while he thought. Lost in thought, he didn't notice the door to his room slide open and a nurse step in.

After a few moments, he noticed the older lady standing by his door. She stayed back, not wanting to frighten him. His eyes took in her appearance slowly. She had mousy brown hair with grey streaks, a round and plump body, a soft face with lines etched into her features, most notably around her eyes and mouth from smiling. 

"Hey, sugar," came her soft voice, "are you hungry?"

"No, but thank you," he replied quietly.

"You sure, honey? Come on, whatever you want. You've got to want something," she smiled patiently.

He looked down at the remote, fidgeting with the buttons as he stuttered, "I-I don't know."

"Well, hun, what's your favorite food?" she asked, still smiling patiently, and Lance decided he quite liked her.

"Coffee ice-cream."

"I'll bring you some then, hun."

Before he could protest, she left, and he smiled a small, sad smile to himself. He continued to pretend the TV held his attention as he waited. Before long, she returned, and he realized his father still had not been back. He smiled meekly at her, before looking at the pint of ice cream, his stomach already protesting, twisting itself into a knot. She placed the ice cream down on his bedside table, blue eyes tracking her movements.

"Do you know where my father is?"

"With the doctor," she stated simply.

"Have some," she urged, "just a taste; you don't need to eat it all right now. And I'll go see if I can find your father."

Skinny hands shook as Lance picked up the spoon and ice cream, slowly peeling off the lid. He stared at the pale brown substance, an unexplainable panic surging in him. Tears prick at his eyes as he sets the ice cream down on the bedside table. 

Lance doesn't deserve any food, he tells himself as burning tears fall onto his cheeks. His cheeks burn with shame, he feels emotionally overwhelmed and raw, and he needs to stop feeling; he stares at nothing as he beings scratching at his own face. As his fingernails rake over his cheeks, he blankly notices that his fingers are becoming moist and bloody, and his face stings with fresh scratches.

Lance doesn't register the glass door sliding open, the raised voices that soon follow afterward, or his hands being pried away from his own face. Still staring into nothing, he's unperturbed when his arms are forcibly pressed against the bed, and padded straps are wrapped around his wrists, restraining him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is decent and people enjoy it!


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of introductions in this chapter!
> 
> Some TW, not as bad as previous chapters.

After three days in the hospital, under close observation, Lance was placed into an ambulance, hospital bed, and all. He thought it ridiculous; there was no need for an ambulance escort, but he didn't try to argue. He didn't feel like talking much these days, anyway. They drove for a long time, or at least it seemed so to Lance, who had no distractions or anything to occupy his time. 

When the vehicle finally stopped, its doors opened up to a similar pair of glass doors. They were too close for Lance to determine its actual size, but he could tell the building in front of them was of considerable size. He didn't get long to take in its outward appearance, as he was hurried inside, still on the damn hospital bed. The interior was as cold and sterile as the hospital, so he didn't bother to study it long. 

Inside, he was allowed to climb off the bed and step on stable ground again. The paramedics left wordlessly, and a soft-looking lady took their place. She guided Lance into an area that looked less like a waiting room, and more like an office. She then herded him into a seat, and he sat there, anxiously bouncing his leg as she and a man discussed things in a nearby room. He strained to listen, but their voices were too soft and muffled. He isn't sure how long he's sitting there when she comes back, followed by a man holding a bag of what looked to be clothing.

"Can you check to make sure everything is correct on here?" the woman asked as she placed a band around Lance's wrist to identify him, not yet joining the adhesive strips.

He glanced down and grimaced at his birth name.

"Yes, but... Are you allowed to use nicknames instead?" he asked timidly. 

"No, but we can call you one, if you'd like," she offered.

Lance nodded, before mumbling: "Lance, please."

"Isn't that a boy's name?" he heard the man respond, and Lance grimaced again.

"Y-yeah, I-I'm a boy," he managed to stutter in response.

Lance's breath caught in his throat as the man started to protest, but something seemed to click in both adults, and they dropped the topic. Or so Lance thought, not noticing them sharing a pointed look.

"We need you to put these on, and take off everything you have on you, okay?" the man asked rather brusquely as he jutted out the bag toward Lance.

"Um, w-where?" he stuttered as he took the bag, panic setting in him for some reason.

They instructed him to follow the pair as they walked through winding, carpeted hallways. They quickly reached a nurses' station, with two glass doors on either side; he could tell they were thick glass, designed to not break under force. There was a large keypad of some kind, where the man scanned his ID card and shoved the door open. The trio stepped into a hallway that reminded Lance of a hotel's design; it was a long passageway with evenly spaced-out doors. The outlier was a pair of large double doors, closeby and labeled as a unisex bathroom.

"In there," the man directed as he gestured to the bathroom with his hand.

Lance nodded and pushed past the heavy doors, surprised to find an open area with individual toilets, with no barriers for privacy except for thin white curtains. He heard the duo follow him into the bathroom and turned around, wide-eyed, to protest.

"You have to be watched by someone," the lady stated plainly.

A whine escaped his throat, and his hands shook as he spoke, "b-but he's in here too?"

"Well, normally, we only allow men to be with the boys and women with the girls during times like this, but since you're a boy, it shouldn't matter. Right?" the man responded aggressively, leaning into Lance's personal space.

The small boy looked to the softer woman for help, but she nodded instead. Tears pricked at blue eyes as the thin boy peeled off his hospital gown, then the leggings he had on underneath. He felt both pairs of eyes on him as he finished, then turned to the woman, ignoring the man who Lance could see smiling sickly in his peripheral vision. He could see her writing down notes on the clipboard she held; she examined his naked body, and he jumped every time her skin came into contact with his. She grabbed his left arm and lifted it, considering the lines that covered his arms.

"Self-inflicted?"

"Y-yeah."

"And these," she gestured to the circular marks on his neck, "also self-inflicted? Cigarette burns?"

He hesitated before responding, "No, and yes."

"Hmm," she responded.

For how long they stood in that room with Lance naked, he didn't know. It felt like hours as they examined every mark and made a note of it. By the time Lance had dressed in the thin gown, sweater, and slippers they provided for him, tears were freely flowing down his face. He had never felt so violated by complete strangers. He knew no one here was actually going to help him, so he gave up then and there.

After he dressed, they escorted him back into the long hallway and led him to the nurse's station, where a large scale sat. They instructed him to step backward onto it so he couldn't see his own weight. He cringed at the cold metal, then again as the lady hummed curiously, followed by the sound of her pencil writing on paper. Still standing on the scale, she ran tests on his blood pressure and heart rate, jotting all of the information down while the man stood still, watching Lance with baleful eyes. 

Once again, he was wordlessly escorted, this time to a dayroom area, where several other patients watched a show on a TV, securely placed behind thick glass. Lance could easily see the nurse's station through a large window, also thick glass. The man gestured to the collection of plush seats before the pair made their leave. Lance stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, some of the other patients glanced at him, but he thankfully didn't hold their interest long. He looked at each person owlishly, eyes wide and uncertain, and he realized quite quickly that he was the youngest person there. Almost every boy in the group was sporting facial hair, and everyone was undoubtedly taller than him. 

He glanced at the rows of plush seats, organized like a triangle with fewer seats in the next row closest to the TV. Noticing the back row was deserted, despite being the one with the most seats, Lance sat in the chair pressed against the wall. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the back of peoples' heads, and the round tables where groups sat, each one playing some variety of card game. He noticed everyone else had their own clothes instead of hospital gowns, and even some of the girls had makeup on. 

"Hey," came a male voice from behind him, snapping Lance out of his scrutiny.

Lance turned around in his seat, and blue eyes focused on a tall, dark-haired person emerging from a doorway directly behind his chair. How didn't he notice that door before? The boy - no, he was a man, that much Lance could tell - was gleaming at him with an unsettling smile.

"I can see you're new here," he continued without a response from Lance, "but the back rows are for the boys, and the front rows are for the girls; only in the middle one, we can sit together. The nurses are a little uppity about it."

Lance considered him for a second, and despite his wolfish grin, he responded, "I'm a boy."

"Okay, pretty boy," he responded, with no discernible reaction, "what's your name?"

"Lance," he heard himself respond, a tiny grin pulling at the corners of his own lips for a reason he couldn't explain.

"Keith," the man responded before nonchalantly flopping into the chair next to Lance's, propping his feet on the chair in front of him.

"What're you in here for, Lance?"

The smaller boy shrugged, playing with the sleeves of his sweater that were too long for his arms.

"Tried to kill yourself, I'm guessing. Either way, how old are you?" he asked without letting Lance respond to his first statement.

"You're pretty small," Keith added as he looked at him closely, eyes narrowed in scrutiny and still grinning.

"Leave the kid alone, Kogane," came a commanding voice, from a man in the doorway of the room wearing nurse's scrubs.

All the other patients in the room looked at Lance, and he felt himself flush, looking away and pretending to be interested in the wall next to him.

"I'm just wondering, fucking sue me. The kid looks like he belongs in the children's ward. I'm questioning if you people made a little mix-up."

"He barely made the cut. Lucky for him, you're getting booted into the adult ward soon. Now let him be."

"Make me, or fuck off."

Lance felt tension fill the room, and glanced at Keith, who looked unfazed, but something made fear twist in his gut. The other patients must have felt this way too, as they continued to gawk, waiting for something, anything, to happen. In a blur of movement that Lance would have missed if he blinked, the dark-haired man stood up, long legs carried him across the room until he was face to face with the nurse. Lance couldn't hear the words being exchanged, but the expression on Keith's face signaled danger.

The male nurse made no reaction as he turned to address the room, his thick mustache visibly bristling, "Group therapy in five minutes. Put away the games."

The male nurse and Keith stepped out of the room, and to the other side of the large window. As soon as they left, everyone else spurred into action immediately and began neatly putting away the games, then the seats were quickly filled up. The last row was left alone, except for two people sitting as far away from Lance as possible. He felt a twinge of sadness for some reason he couldn't explain. 

A tall lady with white hair and tanned, brown skin stepped into the room, followed closely by the two men who were arguing. Keith made a beeline for the seat he was sitting in before, he seemed indifferent. The willowy woman stood patiently in the middle of the room, hands clasping papers. The male nurse turned off the TV and relocated a chair from the nearest table to behind the lady, who sat gracefully. She smiled at everyone easily, reassuring, as the nurse closed the door then placed himself, standing, in front of the door behind Lance.

Lance folded himself up, using his legs as a form of barrier, angling himself towards the wall and away from everyone else. He focused on his sleeves and the wall, letting her voice turn into background noise.

He felt a nudge to his shoulder and startled out of his own thoughts. He glanced at the man next to him, who jerked his head to the woman who looked at him expectantly. Lance flushed when he realized she was probably talking to him, and he had ignored her. She smiled a reassuring, placating smile. 

"Care to introduce yourself? You're the only new person."

The blush deepened as he registered everyone's eyes boring into him.

"Your name, how old you are, anything else you wanna share," she gently prompted when he hesitated to speak.

"Lance," he said softly, before hesitantly continuing, "twelve."

"That's a nice name, Lance. Why are you here?"

"I-I don't know," he stuttered in reply, feeling stupid as his face turned redder.

He saw her glance down at the papers she was holding but didn't say anything further. He felt himself relax and exhale a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"Keith, how are you today?" Lance heard her ask, and his interest was piqued a little. 

"On a scale of 0 to fuck you? Fuck you."

"Keith. If you can't behave, you'll be put back into solitary. Or kicked out," she spoke with an edge to her voice, almost a threat. 

"Yeah, I know," Keith huffed, "bother someone else with your therapy bullshit, Allura."

She sighed and moved onto the next person, and Lance felt the man lean into his personal space. He glanced at him, he was holding a piece of gum out, not making eye contact with the smaller boy. 

"Why are you here?" said Keith, sotto-voce, as Lance took the offering.

"I was at the hospital, and then they look me here," he replied truthfully, worrying the metallic wrapper before popping the green strip into his mouth.

"Why were you in the hospital?"

"I didn't feel good, and then everything went black."

He felt the man looking at him and made eye contact with severe eyes.

"I see," he responded before grinning again, leaning back out of his personal space.

***

After the group session, it was time for lunch. The male nurse told him to stay as everyone else lined up along the window. He watched them leave single-file, escorted by two nurses, while he and five other people stayed behind in the large room. Keith still sat next to him, chuckling at Lance's puzzlement.

"Everyone under close observation eats in here. You're under close obs for the first week 'cause you're new. Just like-," he was interrupted as a hyper bundle of a person jumped onto the seat in front of Lance.

"Just like they are," Keith finished as the person with light brown hair in front of Lance leaned forward over the back of the chair. 

Lance suddenly felt very trapped, but summoned a mumbled, "hi."

"Hi, I'm Pidge!" responded the very excited person, who was beaming at Lance.

He smiled a little in response, and Pidge leaned further into his personal space.

"Other than you, they're the youngest person here. And a fucking nuisance," Keith grimaced.

"I'm fourteen! Ignore grumpy," Pidge countered, still beaming.

"He's supposed to be in prison, but he's missing a few marbles, so he's in here," they continued. 

"Hey! Don't go airing my personal shit. At least I'm not the foster home reject."

Lance looked between the two, feeling the tension as they grinned wolfishly at each other, unblinking. 

"Nice to meet both of you," he said weakly, trying to cut through the palpable anger.

They both smiled at Lance, before a nurse called Keith over to the doorway, holding a styrofoam container for him. Lance looked at the floor then felt the empty space next to him replaced by Pidge. They perched on top of the seat, feet flat on the cushion, instead of sitting. Lance smiled politely, feeling himself grow tired of social interaction. 

"Think hothead over there will get pissed at me for sitting here?"

He nodded in response, and Pidge hummed before springing up out of the chair.

"Switch with me! He won't get pissed at you since you're sitting in his normal seat anyway."

He decided against arguing and sat in the previously occupied seat, which was unsurprisingly warm.

Pidge sat in the seat to the left of Lance just as Keith returned; the chair to his right, pressed against the wall, was now unoccupied. The dark-haired man let out a huff of indignation at the sight but plopped himself down onto it. He handed the other two styrofoam containers, labeled with their names scribbled onto them in marker.

"The nurses request that I be nice to you," Keith sneered at Pidge, who had already started eating their food with abandon.

Lance opened the container but ate nothing, pushing the food around with his plastic fork. Gloomy thoughts raced in his head; he didn't deserve to eat this food. He knew he had gotten fatter from being fed at the hospital. Halfway through his own meal, Keith noticed the smaller boy's hesitance.

"Not hungry? Here, switch with me before you get in trouble," he switched the containers before Lance could even respond and started eating the untouched food.

Pidge, seeing this, spurred into action and switched their mostly empty container with Lance's now half-empty one. Lance smiled gratefully and mumbled a, "thanks, guys." He pushed around the bits of food in Pidge's container until the other two were done.

This continued for every meal they ate together, they'd eat whatever Lance didn't want to eat, and none of the nurses could figure out the small boy's declining weight. Despite all the squabbling, Keith's anger issues, and Pidge's very excitable demeanor, Lance quite liked being their friend. And not just because they fueled his eating disorder. They didn't really pry or try to treat him like a child.

***

Despite himself, and the less than ideal situation, Lance actually liked being in the mental hospital. It was preferable to being at home, and he had a set daily schedule, which was a comfort, compared to previously spending every day in a haze of depression and hurt. Lance was allowed to read books, draw, watch TV, play video games, and generally be happy and enjoy himself.

Although he was a little annoyed to be sharing a room with Pidge. And he despised the aggressive nurses, who enjoyed their own power and authority. Being woken up every other day at 3 am, getting his blood drawn because the pills they give him can become toxic, was unpleasant, to say the least. He also didn't appreciate being weighed each Monday. Most of all, he didn't enjoy being forced to keep from exercise during their daily recreational time outside because he weighed too little. 

Lance went to sleep at 9 at night, then woke up at 3 in the morning every day. He took a quiet shower without waking up Pidge, got dressed, then sat in the dayroom, reading until everyone woke up for breakfast at 7 in the morning. At breakfast, he sat sandwiched between Pidge and Keith, accompanied by whoever else wanted to sit with them at breakfast. They all ate his food without any of the nurses noticing, while Lance spent the entire morning making everyone laugh. It was the only time he felt like people enjoyed being around him, and he wasn't a nuisance. 

After breakfast, everyone spent time in the dayroom, usually watching TV or playing games until lunch. Lance spent the time trying to read while the pair that he was always sandwiched between tried their hardest to distract him. After the period of free time, they had group therapy, which everyone hated. Once a week, they spent the time in an art therapy room, which he never participated in, despite enjoying art. He found the activities useless and didn't understand the appeal of showing how he felt or what his life has been like.

Lunch went the same as breakfast, followed by another period of free time. Once a week, on weighing day, people were called out during this free time to have one on one therapy; Lance never did well with this and refused to talk. Occasionally, they were able to convince the male nurse, Coran, to let everyone spend time in the fenced courtyard. Everyone enjoyed the outdoors, despite being confined in what was basically a metal box, with only a concrete floor, and sets of metal tables and benches.

Dinner ultimately went the same as lunch and breakfast. Although Lance allowed himself finally eat some of the sweets and desserts. After dinner, everyone spent time in the dayroom unless they had visitors. Nurses escorted those people, one by one, into the visiting room. Lance never went, because no one ever visited him. Then again, only family members were allowed to visit, but sometimes he got gifts or mail, usually books or clothes. Like him, Pidge and Keith never got visitors. This never seemed to faze them, as it did to him.

After visiting hour, they all went to a recreational area. On a daily basis, the recreational area switched between being located inside and outside. Inside was a basketball gymnasium, where they did simplistic exercises like jumping jacks, wall squats, and similar activities. Outside was a large field of grass where everyone was free to do what they wanted; some played soccer, football, volleyball, and other outdoor sports. Some, like Lance, simply sat on the grass, aways off from everyone else. This was the only time he wasn't being caged in by his two shadows, but Coran usually sat next to him, on a folding chair he brought for himself. They would chat about simple things, the male nurse was very eclectic and pleasant to be around.

Lance quite liked his daily routine, and after a month or so, it was a comfort to have something to rely on every day. He could rely on his routine; he was safe here, and he was happy for the first time in a long time, even though he was not in a place people would consider themselves happy in. He figured his routine would never change, or at least he had hoped so. But he was wrong; it seemed to him as if he was always wrong when it came to anything that made him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was good, and not too long or descriptive!


End file.
